


Love, Libraries and Literature

by TimeToRemember



Series: Own Me, Hold Me, Love Me 'verse [3]
Category: Infernal Devices Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Books, Collars, Kneeling, Libraries, Literature, Master/Slave, Ownership, Servants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 17:09:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1825837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimeToRemember/pseuds/TimeToRemember
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's not entirely sure how it happened, or why it happened, but Jem wants Will to be happy. He wants him to smile, to be comfortable around him, to be happy and settled and content, and he's supposed to be the Master and Will is supposed to be the slave, but they are already so much more than that. </p><p>Maybe it has something to do with how pretty Will looks kneeling in front of Jem with his collar around his neck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love, Libraries and Literature

**Author's Note:**

> These keep getting longer. Sorry about that.

The library wasn't big. It wasn't a grand open space with shelves upon shelves of books from floor to ceiling and a ladder on rails to access the highest tomes, lit by glowing chandeliers and enhanced by gold railings and mahogany furniture. But it wasn't tiny and cozy either, sporting only one shelf, two at a stretch, with a crackling fire and no windows. The library was, in essence, a hybrid room, featuring multiple styles and ideas in no particular order. 

The library was one of the few rooms in the mansion that Jem truthfully thought of as his.

The door was made of wood, smoothly and expertly varnished, and the carpet thick and deep, the colour of blood. The walls were wood-panelled but invisible, concealed behind the bookshelves. The shelves do not reach to the ceiling, but there are lots of them.

On the right side of the library was the fiction: ranging from a somewhat self-indulgent shelf of Dickens to a set of wildly exuberant Pratchett novels with brightly coloured sleeves, to dramas and chick-flicks and detective novels and even a shelf of poetry because this room wasn't just Jem’s, it was for everyone who lived in the mansion, and if they asked for something, he generally indulged them.

On the left side was the non-fiction: history books and geography books and shelf after shelf of music books because Jem loved his craft and his job, was dedicated to it, and even though he let his students borrow his books they never failed to return them, and his shelves remained full.

But the wall opposite the door was free of books and bookshelves alike, because it was not strictly a wall at all. From floor to ceiling, where there was supposed to be a wall there was instead a large window, a window that cannot be opened but can be looked through, giving the interested viewer a perfect view of the city beyond the mansion. In daylight hours, the window allowed the library to be lit by the sun’s rays, and spotlights set into the ceiling provided artificial light when that was impossible. 

There was a single chair in the library, belonging to Jem – books could of course be taken to other rooms – but the carpet was more than soft enough to make sitting on the floor comfortable.

Jem stood centered in front of the window – no curtains, why would curtains be necessary? – facing out into the busy Friday night evening. There were businessmen and women returning from work, those who did not have chauffeurs and sharp black cars hurrying down the paved streets with umbrellas clutched in their hands, seeking respite from the driving rain. There were families clinging together as they ducked into restaurants, seeking early-dining specials and even the occasional servant running by, usually carrying no umbrella but dressed appropriately against the cold, shoulders hunched.

Jem was dressed simply but not untidily, in a black shirt – top two buttons undone, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, no tie – and black slacks that clung to the slender lines of his legs without being inappropriate or simply too much. The dark colour suited him – emphasizing the paleness of his skin and in turn the darkness of his eyes and hair, drawing attention to his delicate, aristocratic features - and he wore his clothes impeccably, standing straight in front of the window he had had installed as soon as he’d moved in. He didn’t wear shoes, always came barefoot to allow himself the pleasure of sinking his toes into the luxuriously thick carpet, but the lack did not diminish his effortlessly confident presence. 

He held a violin tucked beneath his chin, a beautiful violin, smooth and cared for and loved with each touch of his smooth hands, the long fingers of his left hand curled around it, while his right held the bow, poised just above the strings. He stood, motionless for a long moment, and then he began to play. Crotchets, quavers, semi-quavers, triplets, semibreves, interspersed with the occasional rest, and his music filled the room, expanding to fill every corner, every nook and cranny, every page of every book with the dancing joy he felt whenever he could just play, like this. Whenever it was just Jem and his instrument.

And then the door opened. It was large and heavy by design, and could only be moved quickly with some force behind it, and that’s what happened when Will swept into the room, shoving it open with what Jem had come to learn over the last few weeks wasn’t actually because he was naturally careless with things, but because he was usually so impatient to get where he was going or to do what he intended to do that even the thought of delay was untenable. 

The thick carpet brought the door to a stop before it could hit the bookshelf, which was just as well, because as soon as he’d heard the handle move Jem had turned to see who it was, bow falling away from the strings, light, vibrant, flying music coming to a rapid, abrupt stop, just in time to find himself staring straight at Will. Will who looked – well.

Will’s black hair was curly and riotous, as if he hadn’t even touched it since getting out of bed that morning – and Jem could easily believe that he had not, if even half of what Frank complained about was actually true – and the blue tee he was wearing – clinging, with short sleeves to enhance lithe muscles – was the exact shade of his eyes, wide and confused as they stared back at him. He also wore black slacks, similar to the ones Jem was wearing, but of inevitably lesser quality, but Jem didn’t see them. His eyes had landed upon Will’s neck, because - _he was wearing the collar._

The collar that Jem had officially given him five days ago, that marked him as property of the Carstairs household, that marked him as Jem’s, that told anyone that he was owned and claimed and not to be messed with. The collar that Jem had picked out firstly as a joke – there were ruffles on it, seriously – but then had given to his newest acquisition anyway, because to see the flawless, tan-coloured leather bordered by ink black ruffles on Will’s delicate neck had been too large a temptation to ignore. 

Jem had seen him in it already, of course. But in this room, like this, it was an all-new experience.

“Ah,” Will said suddenly, breaking the silence that had reigned over them since he had practically crashed through the door. “I did not realise – I just followed the music. It – “

“Was it that terrible?” Jem inquired delicately, his cool, precise tone cutting through Will’s words with deliberate ease, enhanced by the wicked humour flickering in his gaze and playing across his calm expression. He didn’t mean to bait Will – he looked honestly surprised to have discovered him as the source – but at the same time, couldn’t find it in himself to stop. “I was unaware that I was making such a racket. I will endeavour to play more quietly in future.” He started to turn away, back to the window.

“No!” Will burst out, somehow managing to look desperate and intent all at once. “It was beautiful.” He coloured. “I mean – you play it wonderfully.”

Jem turned back, studied him more carefully, because this – the stammering, the blushing, the uncertainty – wasn’t characteristic of the Will he had come to know of since bringing him to his home. And as he looked more closely, he saw the fine tremors running up and down his frame, the touch of something unpleasant in his slightly fixed gaze, and his desperation took on a new meaning.

“Come in, Will,” Jem said, unconsciously adopting the low, soothing tone that he had used on him in the collaring ceremony only five days ago. “Please shut the door behind you.” 

Will hastened to obey, and as he did so, Jem laid his violin down in its case, closing and latching it. Once he was sure it was secured, he stepped over it and further into the room, then waited.

Will looked at him again once the door was closed, but when Jem gestured to his feet he took the hint immediately and settled down on his knees in front of him, hands clasped behind his back, head bowed towards the floor. 

Then Jem knelt in front of _Will_ , one cool hand reaching for his chin, and Will almost sprang backwards with surprise. That broke the dam on his words, and he began to babble again. “That’s – what are you – I don’t think this is – “ and he only stopped when Jem shushed him, tightening the grip he had taken on his chin. He subsided, but looked mutinous until Jem favoured him with a bright smile for being good, and then he simply looked wondering.

Jem released his chin to slide his fingers around the collar, brushing the pad of his thumb over the pulse-point in Will’s neck. Will blinked questioningly, but Jem ignored him and just kept stroking his thumb over the same patch of skin until Will stopped asking questions with his eyes and started looking calm and settled.

“There,” Jem murmured soothingly, ceasing his movements but keeping his hand where it was. “That’s better.” He saw a flare of something in Will’s eyes – probably indignation at being spoken to like this – but that was better than the twitching uncertainty of before, so Jem let it pass. “What happened?” 

He asked it calmly enough, but Will shook his head, dropping his gaze again as a new blush spread over his cheeks and neck.

“William.” This time Jem allowed himself to sound stern, injecting a note of warning into his tone. Will twitched, lifted his gaze. “Tell me,” Jem continued, a little softer. 

And Will did. 

He explained, shortly and concisely, how Frank had asked him to go down into the cellar to retrieve a bottle of wine – a red that Jem particularly enjoyed – and how he’d found one of Jem’s other servants down there. An older, bigger, guy, he’d decided that the pretty collar gracing Will’s neck meant he was weak and ready for the taking and had decided to have some fun. Needless to say, he’d ended up pressed into the floor on his stomach, his arm twisted painfully and Will standing over him, pressing his arm slowly back until he’d yielded, flushing with humiliation.

Will had let him up and he’d run out, and that was when Will had started to panic. He’d hurt one of Jem’s servants, and by law he was of lesser value and lesser status, so the natural result would be his ejection from the Carstairs household, back to the Theatre or an establishment like it where he’d have to go through the whole horrible process again. Convinced by his own reasoning, Will had sprinted back into the main part of the mansion – to do what he had no idea – when he’d heard Jem’s violin and had been drawn to discover the origin of the sound.

By the end of the narrative, Will was shaking, and Jem gave inward thanks that he had taken his instrument out that night, because if Will had been picked up running wild on the streets with Jem’s collar and without permission to be out, he would have been punished severely for his transgression.

“Will,” Jem said calmly, “Will. Look at me.” He waited until he did, his gaze painfully hopeful, and then he drew Will to him with the grip he had on his collar. When they were eye-to-eye, he continued. “I am not going to punish you, Will, and neither am I going to have you removed from my household. You did the right thing. I have given none of my servants permission to treat you unfairly, and _you_ have my permission to act as you did if they do. I do not want my people to suffer undue injury, of course, so be careful, but if you must react violently, then you may do so.” He spoke smoothly and slowly, and by the end of it Will looked far happier, far more settled.

“He was big,” Will said suddenly, with relish. “But I guess it’s true – the bigger they are, the harder they fall. I thought he was going to make a hole in the floor, he hit it that hard. If you ever need a human-shaped sledgehammer, he’s your guy.”

Jem stared at Will for a long moment, taking in his bright, unrepentant smile, his suddenly relaxed posture, the way he was clearly struggling to hold back laughter, and shook his head. “You,” he stated, not unkindly, “are ridiculous.”

“But lovely, right?” Will replied immediately, lifting his eyebrows. “Of course I’m lovely. I mean. Look at me.” He waggled his eyebrows instead of gesturing, and Jem stopped breathing in order to hold back laughter. 

“You’re irresistible,” Jem replied eventually, his tone absolutely flat, expression blank.

Will preened. “I knew it. I’m perfect. I’m an asset that anyone would pay a great deal of money to own. If I happened to be a brand, people from all across the globe would buy shares. If I represented a country, it would be the Helen of Troy situation all over again. War would fall upon us as opposing nations would fight to have me. If I – “

Jem pressed a hand to Will’s mouth, cutting off what had seemed like a never-ending flow of words. “Enough,” he said mildly, amusement making his lips twitch. “Quiet.”

He removed his hand.

Will opened his mouth, Jem tried to look stern, and Will closed it again, nodding enthusiastically.

Jem smiled at him, reaching up with one hand to smooth a particularly unruly lock of Will’s hair, and Will sank into his touch, reminding Jem forcefully of the collaring ceremony. He leaned forwards, and pressed a gentle, chaste kiss to Will’s forehead. 

“William,” he murmured, as he pulled back again. “What am I going to do with you.” 

It wasn’t a question, and showing clear initiative, Will did not reply.

In fact, he stayed quiet for the next half an hour, kneeling docilely while Jem read with one hand still curled around Will’s collar, the other turning the pages of the large book he had on his lap. The library had no clock, and it was utterly silent but for their breathing and the whisper of turning pages.

They remained that way until there came a discreet knock at the door, and, a second or two later, Frank’s voice, politely informing Jem that dinner would soon be served. With some reluctance, Jem closed the book and slid it back onto the shelf, releasing Will’s collar as he moved. He helped Will to stand just in case he had left him on his knees for too long, pressed his hand to his neck one last time, and then called for Frank.

Jem swept out, leaving Will still standing in the library, looking more than a little dazed.

 

Frank eyed him critically, arms folded. “I can’t decide whether you look smug or shell-shocked,” he said eventually, delivering the sentence with an expert flatness of tone.

“I think I’m both,” Will said thoughtfully, turning to face him. He lifted one hand to his neck, pressing his fingers to the spot where Jem’s had rested for the last half an hour. 

Frank rolled his eyes. “Yeah, great. Come on, Juliet, dinner awaits your glowing presence.”

Will spluttered indignantly. “Juliet? Why am I Juliet?” 

Frank looked like he was trying very hard not to roll his eyes again. “You had to fight off the unwanted amorous advances of a potential suitor before you took refuge here,” he elaborated flatly, giving the impression that this was all very obvious and Will was clearly being idiotic. “I don’t think Romeo had that kind of problem. And.” He paused. “Your bedroom has a balcony.”

“I am _not_ Juliet,” Will objected, following him out of the library and down the corridor. “I am strong, courageous, and determined, not – “

“Prone to lengthy discussions of literature? To watching your beloved leave with a sigh on your lips? To listening, rapt, whenever he speaks?” Frank interjected smugly. 

“You’re stereotyping,” Will said loftily, adopting a thoughtful expression with his eyes raised to the ceiling. “Shame on you.”

Frank snorted, but changed the subject to start coaching him on the basics of fine dining, so Will counted that as a victory.

**Author's Note:**

> I mean no disrespect to the book, the author, or the characters.


End file.
